


And They Called It Puppy Love

by AetherSeer



Series: Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow? [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Gen, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Washington Capitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-12-09 02:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11660145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherSeer/pseuds/AetherSeer
Summary: If Zhenya gets a little crush on his older, good-looking, ridiculously fit bodyguard, it’s fine, right? It’s normal. He’ll get over it, sooner or later, and no one will ever know the difference.Spoiler alert: He doesn’t get over it.





	And They Called It Puppy Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chartreuser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chartreuser/gifts).



> One of my wonderful betas requested this scene.

Zhenya lands hard on the floor mats, the breath knocked out of him. _The ceiling looks nice today_ , he muses. A large hand enters his field of vision; callouses scrape against his palm as Alex effortlessly lifts Zhenya back to his feet.

“You weren’t paying attention,” Alex says.

“I was, too!” Zhenya retorts. And he _had been_ , watching Alex’s shoulders bunch and his fingers flex. But he hadn’t seen Alex shifting his weight in preparation for the leg sweep that knocked Zhenya flat.

Alex lets Zhenya regain his balance, and then steps back. Alex demonstrates the move again, this time in slow motion. Alex completes the leg sweep and straightens, beckoning for Zhenya to step forward. His hands are gentle on Zhenya’s body as he guides Zhenya’s gangly teenage limbs into the proper form. Zhenya watches a drop of sweat run down Alex’s neck and disappear beneath the collar of his shirt. His cheeks heat.

“Again,” Alex instructs.

 

The thing is, Alex isn’t what most people would consider devastatingly handsome. His eyebrows are thick and unruly, he’s missing one of his front teeth—and still hasn’t told Zhenya that particular story—and his nose has been obviously broken more than once. But his eyes are ridiculously blue and his smile genuine, and he pays attention to everything Zhenya says, no matter how inane.

And yes, he’s _literally paid_ to pay attention to what Zhenya does, but there’s not a hint of deceit in Alex. Alex doesn’t lie to Zhenya—he sometimes doesn’t tell Zhenya _everything_ , but he has never lied. And he’ll listen, no matter if it’s about the stress that comes with being royalty and in the public eye all the time, or the stupid “homework” his court tutors have assigned, or the latest gossip going around Zhenya’s school.

So if Zhenya gets a little crush on his older, good-looking, ridiculously fit bodyguard, it’s fine, right? It’s normal. He’ll get over it, sooner or later, and no one will ever know the difference.

 

He doesn’t get over it.

Zhenya’s 15, and his little crush on Alex has only gotten worse. He’s woken up sticky more times than he can count, and honestly feels bad for the maids who do his laundry. And his little _problem_ hasn’t gone unnoticed by Alex, either. He hopes Alex chalks it up to normal teenage hormones; that Alex doesn’t realize he’s the star of Zhenya’s dreams every night.

 

It was probably too much to ask for, he reflects later.

 

It goes like this: Zhenya’s young, but he’s not blind. He also might be drooling a little. He wipes his chin, glances around to make sure no one’s watching, and goes right back to watching his bodyguard stretch in one of the palace courtyards.

Zhenya rarely wakes up in time to tag along for Alex’s early workout sessions. Mornings like this make him regret not being much of a morning person. He shrugs deeper into his hoodie, tucking his hands into his armpits. His breath fogs up a little in the cool morning air, and Zhenya’s grateful that he doesn’t have to be in formal clothes until dinner today. He’s also grateful that his shorts are loose right now.

Alex is beautiful in motion, muscles standing out in stark relief against the morning sun. He bends forward; his shorts outline his rear. He stretches up, and Zhenya’s eyes trace the trail of hair below his bellybutton. Alex lopes over to where Alexander Semin is leaning against the wall, and Zhenya tracks his movement.

The two older men talk for a bit; Alex gesticulates more and more, but he never raises his voice enough for Zhenya to listen in. Semin is even more soft-spoken. Alex doesn’t seem to get the answer he wanted, because he turns on his heel and moves back to the center of the courtyard, mouth pursed and eyebrows furrowed in what Zhenya recognizes as frustration.

Alex begins a series of pushups and situps interspersed with lunges and squats, and Zhenya’s mouth runs dry. He’s intent enough on watching Alex that he jumps when a voice drawls out behind him, “Sasha might not have noticed yet, your highness, but you’re not as subtle as you might think.”

Zhenya cranes his neck when he looks up. Sergei Viktorovich Federov is one of the few palace security officers that has never failed to intimidate Zhenya. Now is no exception. “I—” he starts. Zhenya can feel his cheeks heat up. “It’s not like that?” he offers.

And it’s not, mostly because Alex would never even _think_ about doing, well, _anything_ , with Zhenya. But his denial sounds feeble even to himself. Federov gives him a steady look. “Of course,” he says, and sketches a bow. “I’ll leave you to your … view.”

Zhenya feels uncomfortable staying outside, now—which, he supposes, might have been Federov’s goal. Nonetheless, he decides leaving would be prudent. There’s bound to be food for early risers in the kitchens, anyway.

Unfortunately for Zhenya, Alex has the same idea. Zhenya’s in the middle of stuffing his face—Maria makes the best _oladyi_ in all of Russia—when Alex walks in, red-faced and glistening with sweat. Zhenya chokes and mumbles an excuse as he makes his escape.

Zhenya makes it to his room and falls face-first on his as-of-yet unmade bed. He lets himself scream once into the pillow, and then rolls over onto his back. He glares down at his traitorous body. “Ugh,” he grumbles, and heads to the bathroom to take care of it.

And if it’s Alex’s broad shoulders and laughing smile that he pictures, well, no one’s the wiser.

 

Except, of course, Alex catches on.

It’s been a month since Federov shamed Zhenya into avoiding Alex’s morning sessions. The royal family’s sponsoring a new library in Chelyabinsk—boosting its youth literacy program. Zhenya’s just changed out of his suit into jeans when Alex nudges him into one of the smaller studies and tells him that he’s flattered, but it would never work.

Zhenya wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole. Alex is kind about his rejection, but it still stings.

“It’s a little about the age difference,” Alex says. Zhenya wants to point out that six years isn’t that big of a gap—his own parents are five years apart. “It’s more that you’re 15 and I’m 21. A lot changes in six years; you learn about yourself and what you want from life.”

He doesn’t mention that it’s illegal at the moment. Both of them are aware Zhenya’s underage.

Alex is trying so hard to let Zhenya down easy; Zhenya’s not stupid enough to think Alex returns his feelings. That didn’t stop him from hoping, a little selfishly, that Alex would wait until Zhenya got a little older.

Alex doesn’t look at Zhenya during the next bit of his let-down speech. Zhenya doesn’t blame him; his ears are burning with humiliation. “If you want to … experiment, I can help you find resources or books or people to talk to. But I can’t be that person for you. That’s crossing _so_ many boundaries—personally and professionally.”

Zhenya feels like he’s been hit in the stomach. His eyes sting with unshed tears. Of course Alex isn’t interested; he’s _paid_ to be Zhenya’s friend and confidant in addition to being his bodyguard. He was just doing his job, and Zhenya … Zhenya suddenly never wants to see Alex again.

“I never meant—I’m sorry I’m such a stupid _kid_ ,” Zhenya spits out, and runs.

He doesn’t check to see if Alex follows him. He doesn’t care. He just has to get away from Alex’s stupid, stubbled face and his shaggy hair and his kind blue eyes.

Zhenya tucks himself into the farthest corner of the carriage house attic, surrounded by dust and dirt and cobwebs, and just lets himself cry.


End file.
